


Blood of the First Men

by Silberias



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, i don't even know that you'll like this but I wanted to write something for you, nebulous courtly AU where no one is dead and things are okayish, vampires because of October
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa doesn't want to be married to Lancel Lannister. Luckily for her, neither does Oberyn Martell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood of the First Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSweetestThing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSweetestThing/gifts).



> Because you write such lovely and beautiful things and we can't ever repay you for the time you take to give them to us.

Oberyn Martell watched her, she knew. He was dangerous in his own right as a warrior but it was the way he glared at her various suitors that had Sansa wary. It was true enough that the suitors were picked by her parents, noblemen who hoped to add her ancient blood to their house through the children she'd give them, and so Sansa didn't particularly like them herself.

Still--once upon a time the Red Viper had killed a man over a woman, and he seemed to make a habit of stealing women away for a time and leaving them forever changed. His lovers were said to be beautiful, blooming well past the years of their youth, something always catching the eye even if at first glance they seemed as plain as mud. The way his eyes glinted when he smiled at whatever woman--or man--took his fancy left her warm and uncomfortable long after he'd departed.

It was an odd kind of relief, hollow and unnerving, that gripped her once her father agreed to a match between herself and Kevan Lannister's son Lancel. The Lannister man would be Castellan of Casterly Rock someday, ruling it for his cousins, and was not a bad match. The relief she felt evaporated when she next glimpsed Prince Oberyn, the dread returning as he glanced at her with laughing eyes. Glaring daggers at him, Sansa decided the next time he was close enough she would slap him.

And indeed, within a few days he ran into her in the gardens and Sansa straightened her back and wound her arm back to strike him across the face. It wouldn't go over well with any other man for she might not be believed that he'd tried to take liberties--but Oberyn Martell? People would believe plenty about him.

Imagine her surprise when he ably dodged her blow, bowing low and greeting her with a teasing grin. Sansa stared at him, dumbfounded. He'd been two feet in front of her--right there, she should have at least swiped his arm as he moved. It made a wave of rage crash in her heart, and a wave of sorrow too.

"You think I don't know that the King snubbed my father's offer of my hand? That as punishment the King and Queen determined I marry the son of a second son?" she asked, holding her arm close to herself as though by dodging her attack Prince Oberyn had injured her.

"My sweet lady, I only smile for I know that you are not the kind to settle for such a match. You want much more," he said, drawing closer to her slowly until he tipped her head up to have her meet his eyes, "you'd take eternity if you could but get your hands on some tangible bit of it."

Sansa scoffed, hunching her shoulders closer to her ears as she turned away from him the slightest bit.

"I am loyal to my family, Prince O--"

"May I kiss you? Will you let me kiss you?" he interrupted, talking in a low voice into her ear. She froze, heart pounding as she thought of Lancel's pleased face as her betrothal was announced. She did not want to marry him without knowing what it would be like to live. So she took a deep breath and nodded--barely finishing the motion before he'd tipped her face towards his once more and pressed his mouth to hers.

So began an affair that had Sansa entirely enraptured--she understood the devotion of his lovers when she learned that he himself was devoted in turn. Every quiet, breathy question she asked along the way was answered with an honest face--and every kiss of his lips and caress of his hands made her burn and ache. It went on for weeks until one day--deeply hidden in the godswood with her dress falling open to reveal her shift--he spoke as he kissed along her pulsepoint.

 _I want your blood_.

Sansa's heart had been thundering but now it beat painfully as it slowed--after everything she'd been betrayed. His glares had been to intimidate her suitors, his attentions to her had been to reel her in, for he wanted legitimate children despite his herd of bastard girls, he'd deceived her--

"Sweet girl, I want to keep you forever," he said, his voice clearer now as the blood pounding in her head quieted. Even though her heart was breaking--or perhaps because of it--Sansa pushed at his shoulder a little so she could sit up. Oberyn leaned away easily, his dark eyes hooded as he watched her draw the shoulder of her dress back to its proper place. Sansa's face burned with shame for she'd thought he wanted her, Sansa, not Lady Sansa Stark. Despite how proper she could be it had been thrilling to let go of it.

"Do you know the stories of the Rhoynar?" he asked as she tried to convince clumsy fingers to fasten buttons. Sansa shook her head in a stern 'no' for she did not want to talk of legends or myths or stories. Not when her Florian was even more of a charlatan than her cheaply-gotten Lannister betrothed. Oberyn moved to sit closer to her, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles before turning it over and kissing her wrist. Sansa's eyes burned with unshed tears--she'd thought he cared for her, cared as no man ever would. Mother said Lancel would be a solid husband, as Father was for Mother herself. Sansa had wanted a song, instead, but hers was only a Septon's sermon.

"They say that Nymeria of Ny Sar thrived on the blood of Dorne and they were not wrong," he continued, holding her palm--she kept her whole arm as limp as possible to give him a hint that she was not participating in this any longer--against his cheek. His skin was so warm, hot even, on hers.

"That she burned as brightly as the stars, and as hot as the Dornish sun--and that the Martells are the same. It is why our kind did not die out after the end of the Long Night," he concluded, looking into her eyes now. Sansa bit her lips to keep from asking the obvious question, and he grinned as he watched her try to work it out for herself. Arya was the one who knew more myths about the Long Night than Sansa, but she knew a bit.

"Sansa, I dearly want your blood--would you have me describe it?" She choked on air as he spoke, her heart starting to race once more. She could barely breathe, in fact, as he recited how her blood called to him. How it smelled, the spice of it following her like a perfume. Old blood--older than anything he had ever had, so old it whispered and sang with her when she moved. Her eyes stayed so focused on his that she did not remember letting him lay her down in the grass once more, or how his teeth scraped-no longer playful or innocent--on her throat as he kissed her.

What she did remember was realizing that he offered her two choices--live as a beautiful but celibate woman after he left her, the years failing to touch her as they should until well past the end of youth, forever tainted by his touch in the eyes of all but herself. Or love him, follow him to Dorne, and live forever. In the end she tipped her head back willingly, flinching but relaxing quickly as his teeth--sharpened by whatever magic made him thus--sank into her neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
